


The Family in Texas

by hstevens5



Category: Supernatural, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, F/M, Horror, Hurt Dean Winchester, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Movie: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), Movie: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006), Protective Sam Winchester, References to Supernatural (TV), SPN Horror Minibang, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Hunters, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hstevens5/pseuds/hstevens5
Summary: Y/N finds out she has family in Texas after receiving a letter in the mail. When her and the Winchesters head to the estate she has inheritated they find more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/You, Sam Winchester/Reader
Kudos: 9





	The Family in Texas

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Please note that I changed the plot a bit, because some of it would not make sense if the main characters Dean and Sam Winchester. Just saying. Also this movie is the worst, so apologies, but I figured it worked best for a reason why the trio would be there in the first place.

You slammed down the phone with a huff, blowing your long bangs out of your eyes, another reminder that you hadn’t cut your hair in a while. You had just gotten off the phone with your parents after getting the letter in the mail that you have a grandmother in Texas who left you her entire estate. You mother had no choice but to tell you that you were adopted, something they kept from you for almost 28 years. You had family in Texas you didn’t even know about. Leaning against the kitchen sink you felt the warm tears fill up in your eyes, threatening to overflow.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam started animatedly, his long legs taking him quickly into the kitchen laptop in hand, no doubt on the scent of a new case. “Check this one out!” He finished, glancing up at you as you swiped at your eyes quickly, before turning around. You reached a hand out for his laptop forcing a quick smile, but he hesitated seeing your tears, pulling back the laptop and placing it on the kitchen island before taking a few steps toward you.

“Hey,” he whispered, putting his hands on your shoulders, hazel eyes burrowing into yours. “What’s going on?” He asked, concern lacing his voice when a few tears slipped out from your eyelids. He quickly pulled you into a hug, and you breathed in the familiar scent of the man who instantly became your best friend when you moved into the bunker years ago. You willed the tears away, as you always tried to be tough in front of the boys, not wanting to be a burden onto them. Sam, especially, had enough problems trying to keep Dean’s sporadic emotions under control, he didn’t need you falling apart too. You felt your resolve slipping, as Sam hugged you tighter, patiently waiting for you to speak. Taking a deep breath, you spoke directly into his chest.

“I got a letter in the mail. Apparently, I have a grandmother in Texas I didn’t know about that left me her estate.” You took another deep breath and Sam’s arms tightened, giving you some of his strength. “I called my mother, and she told me that I’m adopted.” The tears flowed freely now as you remembered how weak your mother sounded telling you the news, voice barely above a whimper. How scared she must be, already having little knowledge of where you currently were. But how could she keep this from you. You felt a surge of anger suddenly and pushed away from Sam, who sighed quietly, and let you walk away across the room. He always said you and Dean were too similar.

“I have a family in Texas I didn’t even know about, Sam.” You gripped the letter in your hand reading the words again, before tossing it angrily to the floor. “And now I have to meet a lawyer at this woman’s house to sign paperwork. I didn’t even know they existed!” You realized you were shouting, but Sam stood still waiting out your outburst.

“What is going on in here!” Dean said suddenly walking into the kitchen pausing at the scene in front of him. Sam put a hand out toward him in warning, shaking his head, but Dean rarely listened to Sam in moments like these, and when he saw the look on your face, he stepped forward immediately leaning protectively toward you. “What happened?” He asked, curter than Sam was, assuming there was someone he needed to hurt. You shook your head, too exhausted from the emotions ripping through your body to repeat the entire story.

“Y/N found out she’s adopted.” Sam stated. raising his hands and letting them fall quickly to his sides.

Dean glanced between him and you before wrapping you in a hug. The Winchester’s both had very distinct hugs, different in their own regard. Sam hugged you tight, trying to transfer some of his own strength onto you in your moment of need. But Dean hugged you as if it were the only way to protect you. Dean’s hugs were all warmth and need, and you loved when Dean wrapped his arms around you, no matter how rare it was. You didn’t have any tears left to cry, but you let Dean hold you as Sam continued your story, picking up the piece of paper you had discarded moments ago.

“It says she is to meet with the estate lawyer a week from today to finalize any paperwork. Without her signature the estate and everything within will go into foreclosure and the bank will auction off the contents.” Dean released his hold, placing his hands on your shoulders and holding you out so his emerald eyes could look into yours.

“What do you want to do sweetheart?” He asked quietly, searching your eyes to make sure you couldn’t lie to him. You sighed running a hand through your hair, looking at the ground and back up into his eyes. You didn’t need to say a word. Dean and Sam understood what you needed to do.

“Okay,” Dean said, turning toward Sam with his arm draped across your shoulders. “Let’s go.”

_______________________________________________________________________

No matter how many trips you took in the Impala, through brutal winters where the heat wouldn’t work fast enough, and scorching summers where your thighs stuck to the worn leather, you never tired of watching the scenery zip past. Since you’d been with the boys, the car hadn’t changed, and you loved stretching out across the backseat, reading or listening to the boys bicker, while you thumbed the little green army men that were shoved into a vent, left over from Sam’s younger days. The car brought you comfort, and you needed it in this moment more than anything. 

You felt Dean’s eyes glance back at you from the rearview window as you flew across the Texas border, an hour or so away from your destination. The night before, it had rained like you hadn’t seen, almost as if the world was trying to tell you something, but you shook away your irrational thoughts and silently thanked Cas that Dean could drive through anything. You sighed deeply and Sam reached a hand behind him, searching for yours and gripping it tight when you reached for him. While it poured last night, you found yourself deep in thought, crying silently for the family you had lost in Texas. Now, in the clarity of the new day, with Sam’s hand in yours while he shouted at Dean to keep his eyes on the road, as the older Winchester winked back at you, you have never felt more loved. And whatever happened with this house or the family you didn’t know you had; you knew the boys would be there for you every step of the way. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as Dean turned down a deserted road, stopping at a large wrought iron gate that looked like something out of a gothic novel. You released Sam’s hand and leaned across the front seat to see better.

“Well, the lawyer said a big gate.” You stated with a shrug, as Dean put the Impala into park, its engine idling. Opening the car door with a creek, you stepped out and approached the iron entrance, the boy’s eyes on you the whole time. You all turned when a car pulled up alongside you, and Dean exited quickly, his hand carefully placed behind his back, where you knew his gun was.

A portly balding man in a too-tight suit, exited his car with a grunt, and you almost had to hold in a laugh when Dean let his arm drop from behind him when he saw the man.

“Mr. Farmsworth?” You questioned walking toward the man. “I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, I figured,” the lawyer began, his mustache lifting up at the edges. “I could tell from the car. Dead ringer.” He finished with a slight laugh that sounded more like a cough. We shook hands and you thanked him for coming all this way, reverting easily into the persona you used as an FBI agent with the boys. You could feel both Winchester’s smirking behind you.

“Anything for Verna,” Mr. Farmsworth said, shaking his head lightly growing serious. “She was a good woman. Salt of the earth. Though, uh,” he paused gesturing toward a crudely drawn expletive spray-painted across the gates. “Not the most popular in these parts.” 

Suddenly, the man glanced behind you toward Sam and Dean.

“I didn’t know you were bringing friends.” He stated lowly. You paused confused by his change in tone. “Is that okay?” You asked.

“Well,” he continued. “It’s your house. If you want it.” He glanced down quickly, “Just so you know. Verna’s trust forbids you from selling it. It’s all described in these papers.” He stated simply, passing you a large manila folder.

“Thanks,” you whispered glancing at Dean, as Mr. Farmsworth headed forward toward the gate.

“You can’t quite see the house from here. But it’s just up beyond those trees.” The lawyer unlocked the front gates with a stack of large keys before ambling back toward you. “These keys,” he said as they jingled in his large hand. “Open everything inside and out. Verna was big on security.” He handed the keys to you before walking over to the touch pad and punching in the gate code.

“0819. Best to remember it as a date.” He said groaning as he stood up straight again.

“August 19th,” you whispered glancing at Sam and Dean who turned at the mention of the date. Your birthday, you thought to yourself lowly.

“Oh,” Mr. Farmsworth said suddenly pulling you from your thoughts, “I almost forgot. The most important thing.” Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a letter sealed with wax. You gripped the letter tightly.

“It’s from Verna,” the lawyer continued. “Make sure you read it. And call me if you have any questions.” He finished handing you his business card and headed back toward his car.

“Hey!” You shouted suddenly, thinking that none of this added up. “How did you find me?”

“Find you?” the large man replied. “Honey, you were never lost.” The man disappeared into his car with a chuckle and you returned to the Impala, silently opening the door and stepping in. Dean and Sam gave each other a quick glance above the car before following and driving slowly through the gates.

_______________________________________________________________________

The drive was short, but it gave you a lot of time to replay the entire previous conversation in your head. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you, the corners creased in worry, but you ignored him for now, allowing yourself to get lost inside of your own head for a minute. It wasn’t until the Impala pulled to a stop that you finally looked up and spoke.

“Oh my God.”

The house could be described as nothing short of a mansion, white and sprawling, looking like it was plucked straight from a southern planation. You stepped out of the car wordlessly, and Sam and Dean followed, as you unlocked the front door with the keys Mr. Farmsworth gave you. The large oak door opened with a creak revealing a large entry way bathed in light from the front windows. You walked forward into the house, placing your bag, keys, and the documents from the lawyer onto the front entry table before turning to explore.

Sam and Dean had the same idea, splitting up and revealing a dining room, kitchen, and pool room, to which Dean took a liking too, racking up a game and throwing a que to Sam, who smirked.

“Rack ‘em up then, brother.” Sam said, chalking up his que.

“What did you say about my rack?” Dean shouted over the record he placed on the player in the corner.

“Shut up.” Sam shouted back.

You smirked at them before leaving the boys to their game, deciding they could use a little fun for a while. Toward the back of the room was a patio door that exited onto the front porch. Once outside, you walked further, stumbling upon a full cemetery, the various headstones suggesting decades of buried people below. Hoping to gather a bit more information about your new-found family, you trolled through the cemetery, careful to avoid stepping too close to the stones. Pausing you read the ones closest to you seeing the last name “Sawyer” appear over and over. Walking further toward the freshest grave you read, “Verna Sawyer Carlson.” Sighing lightly, you whispered a quick “thank you” before turning to head back inside.

You stopped suddenly when you saw a red van pull up and park, several people stepping out, talking animatedly. Your hunter instincts kicked in and you quietly grabbed the gun in your back pocket, and hurried to come up behind them, hearing the music switch off as you began to move. You knew Dean and Sam had your back in that moment.

“Hey!” You yelled, watching Sam and Dean flank right and left, so the group was surrounded. The girl in the front with the cut off shirt and piercing blue eyes turned suddenly, facing you. The others looked around, realizing they were surrounded and the guy closest to Dean raised his hands slowly noticing the guns.

“We don’t want any trouble.” The guy said slowly.

“Well, you pulled up to the wrong house for that.” Dean replied coldly before shouting, “on your knees!” The group slowly dropped down, as Sam and Dean closed in on them, guns still raised.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked roughly, glancing from group member to group member.

The girl with the blue eyes spoke first, her voice breathy. “My grandmother just died. I was told to come to this address to meet with a guy about the estate, and the gate was open.” She finished shrugging lightly with her arms raised. Your gun began to waiver, her words hitting you like a brick wall. Could this girl be related to you?

Before you could react, Dean spoke harshly, “And where’s your proof of that!” The tone of his voice made the girl jump and let out a soft squeak, before she motioned to her bag and the piece of paper that was hanging out. You grabbed it quickly and read the words on the page, your eyes beginning to fill with tears. This girl was your sister.

You glanced at Dean and Sam who looked back at your questioningly, but you placed your hand on the girl’s shoulder and beckoned for her to stand up.

“What’s your name?” You asked softly.

“Heather.” She replied, glancing between you and the boys.

You nodded your head deep in thought, and you spoke without thinking it through. “Heather, I think you are my sister.”

______________________________________________________________________

Without hesitation the girl wrapped her arms around you tightly, her dark hair flying around with the motion of her movements. From behind you, you could see Sam helping the other girl and the three guys to their feet, apologizing quietly, and muttering excuses about being feds, his eyes never leaving you. Heather began to shake in your arms, and you knew she was crying softly, so you wrapped your arms around her a bit tighter.

“What’s your name?” She managed to choke out between sobs.

“Y/N,” you respond, not believing this was happening. 

She began to calm down a bit, and introduced you to her friends, Nikki and Kenny, her boyfriend Ryan, and a guy they picked up outside of town, who shook Dean’s hand confidently and introduced himself as “Darryl.” Heather can’t stop starring at you and to break the moment you give the group a brief tour of the house, of what you have already seen, Heather’s friend Kenny excitingly offering to cook dinner for everyone after seeing the kitchen. You glanced at Sam and Dean, and Dean shrugged, unable to think of a reason why not.

“Sure,” he said hesitantly, “I can run into town and grab some groceries.”

“We can come with too,” Heather states grabbing Ryan’s hand and gesturing toward Nikki, Kenny, and Darryl.

“I’ll stay back and start unloading stuff, I’m low man on the totem pole anyway. If we are planning to stay here for a while, we better get unpacked!” Darryl states with a grin, heading toward the red van, Heather and the trio following.

You gripped Dean’s arm lightly, watching the group unpack their bags. “I don’t like you going alone with them, Dean,” you said wearily, rubbing a hand down your face, exhausted from the last half hour. He gnawed at his bottom lip a bit and nods, looking toward the group and back toward you and Sam, letting out the breath he was holding.

“Well, I’m not about to leave you here with just this random guy. And we can’t leave the house alone. Sam, stay with Y/N and I’ll go with the teens.” Rolling his eyes, he glanced at you and gripped you softly around the shoulders. “I’ll be fine.” He finished quietly, so only you could hear, before heading toward the Impala barking out a gruff “let’s go!” to the group. Ryan began raving loudly about the car before his voice is cut off by the slam of the front door. Dean winked at you through the windshield and peeled out down the driveway, leaving you in the dust with Sam, and Darryl. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“Hey,” Sam asks you quietly, sitting down on the front steps as you stared out across the estate. “How you doing?” He places his hand around your shoulder and pulls you close, planting a soft kiss to your forehead. Darryl was inside exploring the upstairs. You left him too it after you figured he wasn’t going to burn down the house with you sitting right there and stepped outside for some fresh air. You had been out there about ten minutes when Sam showed up.

“I don’t know Sam,” you finally answered, pushing your bangs out of your eyes to glance up into his. “Isn’t this all…. Weird?” You finished not knowing how else to phrase it. Sam shrugged, nodding his head slowly.

“Yeah,” he began pulling you closer as you shivered a bit against him. “I have to admit, I never expected to actually meet some of your family when we came out here. But honestly, our entire lives are weird. Maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth?” He finished with a shrug, his thumb rubbing soft circles against your shoulder.

“Besides, they all seem normal enough. More normal than you anyway.” He grins wide and you scoff and bump against his shoulder lightly giggling.

He smirks at you and you lean in closer jumping when you suddenly hear a clatter from inside. Sam glances at you and rushes inside, you following close behind.

“Darryl!” You yell, looking around the entry way, Sam searching through the pool room and the kitchen.

You glance into the dining room and let out a “son of a bitch” under your breath.

“I don’t see him,” Sam said walking around the corner. You huff out a breath and roll your eyes, pointing toward the missing silverware and candle stick holders. Sam shook his head lightly and sighed, “probably took off.” You nodded, hearing the roar of the Impala come up the drive.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Fucking thief!” Heather yelled stomping into the house, after Sam told her where we figured Darryl ended up. You stood back silent, your anger getting the best of you in that moment. You didn’t know any of the group from Adam at this point but felt betrayal anyway. They should have never picked up that guy up, you thought to yourself. Sam and Nikki helped calm Heather down reiterating what Sam had told me minutes earlier, “that it’s just stuff.” You nodded at her, accepting her apologetic hug, and everyone returned to the house to prepare for dinner, Ryan popping a bottle of Champagne, Dean rolling his eyes at the “girly drink” but accepting some anyway. You smirked at him from behind your bangs and he stuck his tongue out at you like a child, downing the liquid.

An hour later the drinking was amped up and Ryan and Dean were locked in a death match style pool game, while Kenny whistled away in the kitchen preparing a feast. Ryan insisted on playing some music from “this century” and turned on some rap much to Dean’s dismay, the bass bumping loudly against the wooden floors. However, you let out a scoff when you saw him eyeing Nikki who was swaying her hips in the corner. Sam, Heather, and you were off to the side watching the game, Heather asking you question after question about your life and you expertly avoiding spilling too many details. It wasn’t quite time for “the talk.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled in frustration losing the game by one ball, Ryan having similarly lost a half hour ago, leaving them tied. Ryan chuckled from the corner, and you saw Dean’s jaw tick slightly. You rolled your eyes looking at Sam who looked amused.

“Is he always this serious?” Heather asked gesturing toward Dean, a look of genuine curiosity on her face. You giggled under your breath thinking about how to answer, when Sam jumped in. “Dean is very complex,” he responded taking a sip of his drink. Heather raised her eyebrows and Sam didn’t continue leaving you openly laughing at how accurate that explanation really was.

“So. Which brother is yours?” Heather spoke again suddenly, making Sam choke on his drink, his face turning red. You roared with laughter unable to contain it, prompting Dean’s attention and he waggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, and bent further over the table, completely misinterpreting your gaze. You rolled your eyes in response and turned back to Heather.

“Neither.” You answered simply, shrugging, not sure how else to respond. Heather seemed to accept that, and returned back to watching the pool game, Sam giving you a small smile. Maybe in a different life you and one of the Winchesters would have worked, but there was too much baggage now. Too much trauma. Sam was your best friend, and you knew enough about him to know that he still deeply mourned his first love, Jessica. And Dean. Well Dean was Dean, and you figured he preferred his life jumping from girl to girl. You weren’t naïve enough to think you met his standards in that department.

Suddenly, you couldn’t stand to be in the room, it beginning feel stifling hot. You stood up, and muttered something about exploring upstairs. Sam made a move to follow, but you shook him off with a smile, doing the same to Dean when he put down his pool que. Once away from the burden of 20 questions and your own thoughts about the brothers, you climbed the staircase heading upstairs, pausing to look at each picture you passed, many of them family pictures, each member wearing a chain with an S hanging from it. You paused in front of a portrait of a woman with Y/H/C hair that looked eerily like you, when you noticed something that set you back on your heels. Reaching up you yanked down your shirt revealing the odd scar you have right below your right collar bone, reflecting the same design as the woman’s necklace. It looked almost as if you had been branded at some point. What was going on?

You kept walking upstairs, finding what must have been your grandmother’s room, complete with old spray bottles of perfume and clothing. Sifting through it all, you held up one of the dresses looking back into the mirror when you saw a corpse positioned in the chair behind the mirror, startling you enough that you let out a scream. 

Moments later, you heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and Sam and Dean rush into the room, guns at the ready, lowering them when they see you standing there, one hand over your mouth a silent tear falling.

“We can’t let Heather see her like this.” You said quietly, turning your back on the shriveled body. Sam quickly covers it with the blanket from the bed, when you hear a scream from below, all three of you rushing down the stairs hearing Heather screaming “you guys!” 

You turn the corner into the kitchen where you see the large figure of a man, dressed in a red shirt and pants, cutting the fingers off a severed hand. Each finger plunked uselessly into the bowl beneath him. Before anyone can react, the stranger turns toward you all, and you see that instead of the pale hue of his face, it’s as if he’s wearing a mask, of pale-yellow human skin.


End file.
